


The Way the World Ends

by bloomsburys



Category: Ashes to Ashes
Genre: F/M, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomsburys/pseuds/bloomsburys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alex discovers too much on a search for the truth in Keats' office, he offers her an ultimatum that makes her skin crawl. With her world disintegrating around her, the darkness closing in and hope fading, just how far is Alex prepared to go to save Gene Hunt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_This is the way the world ends  
Not with a bang but a whimper_

_~ The Hollow Men_ , T.S Eliot

Alex's hands were trembling. She could feel the cool, reassuring metal of her gun against the small of her back where she'd lodged it into her jeans for just in case, yet she still found herself jumping at each distant thud of a door, each faraway car engine and the clunk of the heating. She shouldn't be here.

Keats' office at night was much like the man himself during the day – dusty and dark, just too warm for comfort and filled with file after file, all letters and numbers - no emotion, no life, no memorabilia of a past life to suggest anything beyond a cramped, cardboard cut-out of a man who set her distinctly on edge, no matter the position he had tried to take on as her confidante. Alex took a deep breath and began searching.

At first all she found were copies of files for every case they had ever worked – not just Gene, but all of them, even before they had arrived at Fenchurch and, in the case of Ray, Chris and Shaz, even before they had worked under the Guv. Alex frowned. Why would Keats need information that dated so far back? Next came the Sam Tyler files – his cases, newspaper cuttings, witness statements and write-ups from after his death, the inconclusive report. There was nothing there that Alex hadn't already read and pored over before. She moved on, searching with frantic fingers through the filing cabinets for anything, _anything_ , that might be considered out of the ordinary for a D&C officer, even one with an obvious grudge, to be storing.

"Come on, Keats, you bastard, what are you – "

Her eyes lighted on a bunch of files that looked newer than all the rest. Brows furrowing, Alex reached for them and heaved them from the back of the cabinet, holding them up to the dim, orange light. Her lips parted, eyes widening. These files were not simply 1983 new, with no dog-eared corners or tea stains or rumpled edges like the others. They were 2008 new, crisp manila with printed labels, 21st century Met Police standard. Alex felt herself sway a little, heard the reeling of a tape in her head and the shatter of a gunshot through her skull. The files fell from her arms and a second later scattered themselves across the lino floor.

She found pictures of herself staring up at her – surveillance photos from the day she had been shot, medical reports of her brain surgery, arrest files and photos of her from Molly's birthday parties and newspaper reports of her parents' deaths all arrayed before her. Falling to her knees, Alex began scrabbling though the countless papers – her exam results, photos of her at university, her wedding photos, Molly's birth certificate, the decree absolute of her divorce, her bank statements, her mortgage agreement, school reports and payslips and custody agreements. Her entire life packaged up into a few police files.

"No…"

The terrified word fell from Alex's lips as she stared at the accumulation of her life, the documents and photos that made up her existence. Then Keats knew. He knew who she was, where she was from, what had happened. He knew she was fighting to get home, to see Molly…and that she was dead. She was dead in 2008. She was staring at the death certificate, the police report and the news article to prove it.

Alex felt the panic build in her chest, airways constricting as she fought to rebuke the truth. Keat's office, shadowed in orange light and dust, swam before her vision, the musty smell bitter in her sinuses now as she choked back a sob, rigid fingers clutching her death certificate as though daring it to dissolve in her hand. She wasn't going home. She wasn't going back to Molly, back to her old life, her old self. The weight of these final truths clanged inside of her, a clock striking twelve – time's up, game's over, dead. Dead. Everything was swimming – the word that had appeared on the whiteboard that very first day as she attempted to brainstorm her way out of her own coma, Zippy telling Molly her Mum was never coming home, Molly fading from view down a long corridor, blurry birthday candles and a blurry little girl, jumping to catch a kiss blown from too far away, and Gene before her, all crocodile skin boots and blazing gun and – _Gene_.

Alex scrambled to her feet, tears hot and heavy in her eyes now as she turned her back on the files and memories littered across the floor. She threw herself across the room, jolting as though seasick toward Keats' desk, hands scrabbling at the locked drawers she had intended on moving onto next. Panting, still crying, she smashed them open, blindly grabbing the brown bags inside and emptying them out onto the floor. Labelled video tapes, one for each of them but her – Chris, Ray, Shaz, Gene… And police reports, write-ups across the decades of their deaths… PC Chris Skelton, shot to death on duty. DC Ray Carling, hanged – suicide. PC Sharon Granger, stabbed on duty. PC Gene Hunt…shot to death on duty.

Alex stared at them all with empty lungs, breaths scraping the back of her throat as she attempted to pull together the rift opening inside of her, tried to stop herself from teetering on the edge, falling into oblivion because all this time, all these years and…they were just like her. Chris, Ray, Shaz, even Gene… they were all the same, they had just… They had forgotten. Would she have forgotten? Would she have forgotten Molly, Evan, her parents? And then, as if the darkness could get deeper, the blackness bigger, there was a file left in the bottom of the drawer. Manila, again, marked with black marker in what she recognised as Keats' handwriting: DISCIPLINARY ACTION.

Alex removed it with shaking fingers, her spine quaking now as she knelt before files upon files of devastating truths. She slipped the papers from this final one out onto her knees.

It was a plan. Transfer statements for Ray, Chris, Shaz and herself to D&C, whatever those letters signified now. No officer needed this amount of information; no officer _could_ have this amount of information for a simple inquiry. There were fabricated witness statements claiming Gene's culpability in Sam Tyler's death. Testimonies to Gene's temper and tendency for violence. Forged evidence reports and a list of payments to the witnesses. Report after report, receipt after receipt. It was a set-up on a grand scale, the most complex and intricate and perfectly planned she had ever come across. And finally, Alex found herself holding an arrest warrant for DCI Gene Hunt, dated ten days into the future. An arrest warrant for the murder of DI Alex Drake.

She couldn't breathe. She felt the chasm opening up inside her and around her and she stumbled to her feet, clutching the file, intent on running and telling Gene, on telling everyone, _anyone_ who would listen long enough to do something, to stop this, to stop Keats. Her mind raced, tripping up over the facts and the details as her heart continued chugging blood around her body, battering her ribcage as she took two hurried steps forward, stumbling over pieces of paper and photographs and she needed to get out, needed to run, needed to tell someone and –

The door was opening. Alex froze, felt her heart and brain freeze in that moment and the shreds of frantic hope inside of her died. She felt the oxygen in her lungs turn to mist as the door creaked open further. Keats entered the office.

He didn't pause. He didn't blink. Didn't even show any sign of being surprised to find her there, surrounded by papers and clutching a file with the power to ruin them all. Instead, he let the door click shut behind him and looked at Alex as though she were a child caught raiding the kitchen at midnight. He looked sad, disappointed even, as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it aside over a nearby cabinet. Alex still couldn't move, chest rising and falling but brain unable to motivate her legs. She stood there, caught in the trap, waiting for her captor's next move.

Keats only looked at her again, dripping false devastation, and murmured sadly, "Curiosity killed the cat, Alex."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: implied sexual coercion

"Curiosity killed the cat, Alex."

Keats' lips curled into a smirk in the silence that followed, something close to amusement in his eyes as he watched her blood run cold. He pushed his hands into his pockets, leaning back against the door, legs crossed at the ankle. "Well, come on then. I'm waiting."

Alex frowned at him. "For…for what?"

Keats threw his head back and laughed – a terrible bark of laughter that made Alex jump. His eyes fixed on her again, glowing with delight. " _You'll never get away with this!_ " he said in a high, trembling voice, mimicking her she presumed. " _You can't do this! I'm going to stop you!_ " His lips settled back into a smirk. "What's wrong? The great, mouthy DI Alex Drake with nothing to say?"

He pushed off from the door, hands still in his pockets as he circled her. He was a vulture, eyeing her like dead meat and Alex could feel herself becoming a carcass, rotting hopeless despair from the inside out. After what felt like an age Keats stopped behind her, too warm breath on the back of her neck, making her shiver in disgust.

"I'm going to win, Alex," he murmured, voice low as though the words were merely the sweet nothings exchanged between lovers across pillows and tangled sheets. "I'm going to beat you. I'm going to beat Gene Hunt. You're going to lose _everything_."

"I…I already have." The words trembled as they escaped her lips and she took a shaky breath in. "I'm dead."

"Oh now, Alex, let's not be melodramatic." Keats chuckled in her ear and she felt a warm, heavy hand rest on her hip. She tried to shrink from him, lean away from his touch but he only held her in place tighter, lips closer to the juncture of her jaw and neck, hot breath suffocating. She gripped the file tighter.

"You're alive here…very much alive, in fact, and…Well, nobody likes a liar, Alex. You haven't lost _everything_ yet. Is Molly really the only person who matters to you? Is getting home really the only thing that's important?"

Alex swallowed. Keats let go of her hip and circled back round to face her, leaving her skin burning cold through her top where he had touched her.

"What about your team, Alex? What about your life here?" He cocked his head on one side, taunting her. "Your banter with Ray Carling, the developing mutual respect? Your mentoring of Chris Skelton? You've taken him under your wing, Alex. And Shaz, your friendship with her, your girly chats about politics and firemen? I've been watching you, Alex. These people matter to you. You care about them."

He said it as though it was a weakness, a chink in her armour that he could exploit to full advantage. Finally, a smile spread across his face, sticky and sweet. He leant back against the door again, arms crossed.

"And what about Gene Hunt, hm?" The smile turned into a laugh. "Now don't tell me that you don't care about him, that the great Gene Hunt isn't important to you."

Alex opened her mouth, but no denial could come. She steeled herself, drawing her spine straight and taught as she stared Keats down.

"You're not going to hurt him." She swallowed the shake in her voice, the tremble of her tongue as she heard the lie in her own voice. She was holding the evidence of Keats' impeccable planning in her hands. What could she do to stop him? She took a predatory step toward him anyway and hoped her nerves were strong enough.

"You're not going to hurt any of them." She held up the file. "This?" she spat. "This is madness and God help me, Jim Keats, I am going to stop you. I _believe_ in Gene Hunt and despite all his bullshit bravado, the misogyny and the bickering, he believes in me too and _you_ , and your little mastermind scheme, will _not_ tear us apart. You won't tear any of us apart, not this time."

Keats slowly unfolded his arms and appeared to consider her carefully. "That's a pretty speech, Alex."

His next movement was so sudden Alex didn't have time to react. His body weight had her pinned against the back wall of the office in the space of a second, one of his arms worming its way round to the small of her back to work the gun loose from the waistband of her jeans. Her breath caught and there was a clatter as it was sent sliding across the floor, away from her.

Keats smirked, hips holding her in place as he brought his hands up to cradle her face, thumbs grazing her cheeks in a caress that made the bile turn in her stomach. The file had fallen to the floor and she was trapped absolutely, wide amber eyes drowning in the malice of his black ones.

"But that's the thing with you, Alex," he whispered. "You're all talk. You're just like him. You can string a fighting sentence together…" He pushed his body harder into hers so that he could feel every line and angle submissive to his, trapped and squirming. "But can you actually fight?"

"Let me go." The words were nothing more than a terrified whisper.

Keats laughed, moist breath suffocating her as she struggled against him, choking back a sob and feeling her heart thud in her chest.

"What are you going to do to stop me, Alex?" His head tilted to one side once more, eyes roaming her face as though it belonged to him. "What can you _really_ do to stop me?"

When silence greeted his questions, he grinned, showing clean spit between his teeth in the dim light. "You can't do anything, Alex," he crooned, devouring the fear in her eyes and the set of her jaw. "I'm going to take this team down one by one… I am going to shatter them with the truth of who they are, of what they've done, of how Gene Hunt has lied to them… I am going to take their glorified image of Hunt and expose it to the air, watch it corrupt and fade away to nothing and I am going to watch them betray him. I am going to watch them walk out of this door and into my arms and leave him like the snivelling bastard that he is. He was given a job to do, Alex, and he didn't do it. He got too attached, wouldn't let some people go. Sinners have to be punished, Alex."

She hated the way her name slid from his tongue, the two syllables slick and taunting in his mouth.

"And you… I am going to lay you to waste, Alex… I'm going to make Hunt watch you die knowing he can't save you, not this time. And I am going to make sure he goes down for your murder and I am going to watch him fall apart beneath the weight of his guilt, his fury, his desperation for something he never even had because he was too much of a _coward_ – "

"Please…"

The word had escaped Alex as a whimper, tears trembling in the corners of her eyes as she quaked beneath the weight of him and his words, the wall cold and hard at her back.

"Please," she whispered again. "I'll do anything, any…anything you want just… _don't_ do this to him, to them…to all of us. Whatever you want, Keats, I'll do it, just don't ruin him, you can't… he's not your enemy; you're just doing your job. I get it, but please… _please_ …"

A slow, sure smile crept across Keats' face at this, glee lighting up his eyes. "You…you're asking for a bargain? Always reason with you, isn't it? _Psychology_. You want to cut a deal, Alex?"

She took a moment to consider what she was doing, breath shaking between her lips. After a few seconds, she nodded.

Keats' smirk deepened. "Of course you do," he murmured. "You would do anything to save Gene Hunt and his team, because they saved you… Well this makes my job a lot more… _enjoyable_."

At the flicker of Alex's frown, he explained, hands still either side of her face, fingertips caressing and sending shudders to her spine.

"You, see, Alex…I am just a pencil-pusher, just doing my job, just following orders like anyone else… Gene Hunt is down to be punished, Alex, and I really do _hate_ rule-breakers, but… I can make all this go away. I can leave Gene Hunt and you and his team alone and go bother the next person on my list. I can lose his file, lose all your files…tell my boss that I don't think anything really needs doing here, that Gene Hunt really isn't doing anyone any harm…"

"What do you want?"

Keats considered her carefully, taking his time to trace his gaze over her face as though examining her for faults. Alex stiffened and squared her jaw as he trailed a finger down to her chin, tilting her face up toward his.

"I think I'll take you," he said quietly.

Alex's eyes widened. "You're sick," she whispered, feeling the bile rise in her throat and her breathing constrict. She could feel him against her now, could see the glittering lust in his eyes and the delight in his smirk. He had her exactly where he wanted her.

"Oh come on, Alex, it won't be so bad…" He trailed a slow finger down the column of her neck, resting it almost gently in the hollow of her collarbone. "One night, Alex. Just one night, and I disappear for good. What do you say?"

She could barely breathe, could barely think beyond the fear eating her from the inside out, the disgust bitter in her mouth and shivering across her skin. His touch made the bile churn in her stomach, made her want him as far away from her as possible.

"I can give you some time to think about it, if you'd like," Keats told her quietly, tracing his finger back up to her chin, "Twenty four hours?"

He stepped back from her, leaving her cold and shaking against the wall, only just able to stand back up straight with wide eyes and a thumping heart.

"I'll give you twenty four hours," he said again, crossing over toward the door and placing his hand on the handle. He sounded like a businessman proposing a deal and nothing more. "Come back then and let me know what you've decided."

Alex gaped at him, frowning. "How-how do you know I won't just tell Gene… I could tell them all, everything, and…"

Keats began laughing again, taking his hand from the door handle. "Oh, Alex, sweetheart. I know you, and I know Gene Hunt. And I know you wouldn't throw away a chance to save him just like that." He levelled his gaze at her. "You're going to come back here tomorrow night and you're going to _beg_ me to spare him."

With that, he opened the door and the cool air from the corridor outside made Alex shiver.

"Twenty four hours, DI Drake," Keats said clearly, gesturing for her to leave.

Alex needed no more prompting, Keats watching her closely as she slid through the doorway. "I'll see you tomorrow evening."

Alex spat at him. "Go to hell."

He smiled. "Oh, Inspector, I'm going to rather enjoy you."

He watched her all the way down the corridor until she disappeared around the corner, heels firm and resolute on the floor tiles even as her hands shook, balled into fists by her side. She slid down to the floor as soon as she was out of sight, gasping for air and breath and an escape and for some other solution that wasn't that – everything, anything but _that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say that I hope the trigger warning at the beginnning of this was sufficient for anyone who might not wish to read further...Please do let me know if you think any stronger or different kind of warning needs to be given. It's my responsibility to do that and please do not hesitate to ask.
> 
> Eleanor :)
> 
> ~ all usual disclaimers apply


	3. 3

Alex still felt that her skeleton was quaking even as she sat down behind her desk in CID the following morning. She had paperwork to complete, arrest warrants and case files to sign off on, but her fingers trembled around her pen and all the words on every page were just blurs of black lines, irregular and incomprehensible. Trying to take a steadying breath, although she felt that an earthquake had settled into her lungs and that the seismic shocks through her body were never-ending, she put down her pen and looked about the office.

The splinters cracked open by the past few weeks were all too evident in the atmosphere that morning, as they had been almost every morning since she awoke from the coma. Nothing was the way it was. The world seemed greyer, somehow, and broken. Shaz was typing up a report but there was nothing playing from the radio on her desk, no forgotten tab cans or chocolate wrappers. Chris was staring into space but there was no steady thud of a ball against the wall, no tap of his pencil against the desk edge, no whisper of paper screwed up and aimed at the bin in the corner. The ashtray on Ray's desk was overflowing as usual, but the man himself seemed hunched over and cold, spine crippled by and not proud of his DI status. As Alex cast her gaze about CID she felt distinctly that the backbone of the team she so loved was fracturing. How long before it broke? How long before Keats succeeded in his mission here?

She shuddered, feeling her heart thud its hollow arpeggio against her ribcage again at the thought of him, dark eyed and smirking, body pressed against hers as he named his terms. Swallowing, Alex dropped her head into her hands and tried so desperately to focus long enough just to breathe. In and out. In for seven seconds. Out for eleven. In for seven seconds. Out for eleven. Her head snapped up.

She could save them. She could save them all. Her gaze, as though by instinct, wandered to Gene's office. She could see him sitting there beyond the glass, whiskey tumbler already in his hand although it was only half ten, and there was nothing majestic or imposing about the Manc Lion now. This was not the Gene Hunt she knew. His spine, like Ray's, seemed to have crippled itself at the bottom, so tired of holding up the weight of proud shoulders and a consciousness that had seen too much pain. That had, perhaps, caused too much pain. He was slumped in the chair, eyes unseeing, lips set in the familiar pout, but there was no brooding pride in his eyes. There was only the emptiness of defeat, only the expression of a man who was staring into the void in the full knowledge that it was about to swallow him whole and that there was nothing he could do to escape it. This was not the Gene Hunt she knew. This was not the Gene Hunt that, despite the wrangling of her mind to overcome the faithful beats of her heart, she had come to love in her own incomprehensible way.

Unbidden, Keats' words return to her, snide and knowing: _You would do anything to save Gene Hunt and his team, because they saved you._

Her hands were shaking. She was loath to admit it and the defeat tasted bitter on her tongue, but he was right. Gene Hunt had saved her. Ray, Chris, Shaz… They had all saved her. They had taught her to live again in this world, to smile and drink and work with them, to laugh at their jokes and join in their traditions and to feel, more than she had ever dared to feel, that she had a home among them here. They were a team, the five of them, although misfits all. Could she allow that to be broken? Could she allow their trust in the Guv to be torn apart, allow them to betray each other, to betray Gene? Could she allow Gene to fall so far, leave him stranded at the bottom with no way up and no way out, only crushed faith and devastation and the glimpses of what was and what could have been? Could she, having been offered a get-out clause, a bargain, a chance, pass it up and allow Keats to triumph over the strongest bond she had ever known, the best people and the most important connection?

Alex heard the door to Gene's office open and she looked up, inwardly sighing as Gene stood there watching her, spine straight but not straight enough for him to still be the man she knew.

"Bolly." He said it with a jerk of his head toward the office and she stood, breathing deeply.

Entering his office, she shut the door behind her quietly as though to shatter the team's silence would be to shatter the team itself. The very air seemed fragile.

"Yes?" she asked.

Gene only let out a long sigh and leant back against the window, watching her with tired eyes. "Keats is going to shut us down, Bols. I can feel it. He's going to file his report and throw us to the dogs and we're not going to be able to do anything to stop it."

Alex opened her mouth, and was surprised to feel tears building in her eyes, the saltwater stinging her irises as she willed them not to fall. He had no idea just how bad Keats' intended fate for them was.

"Guv," she said quietly, glancing down because she couldn't meet his gaze, not when he looked so defeated, so empty and so utterly without the fight she had always associated with him. "You don't know that, he might…He might have a change of heart."

Gene scoffed. "A change of heart, Bolly? An' he might sign up for the next production of My Fair Lady and bake us all cookies an' all!"

Sighing, Alex perched on his desk, fingers toying with the edges of unfinished reports. She still couldn't meet his gaze. "We've survived this far, Gene. We survived Scarman, Supermac…We might survive Keats and his cronies down at D&C yet."

"Nah," Gene sniffed, tipping back the dregs of his whiskey and looking down into the bottom of the glass. "We're a dying breed, Bolly, all of us. Even Shaz, even you. We do our jobs as our consciences dictate, and if that doesn't comply with the rule book then, well, we sod the rule book and we do the right thing anyway." He placed his glass down. "They're not looking for people who do the right thing anymore, Bols. They're looking for people who play by the rules. Early retirement or demotion or transfer…they'll scatter us and get rid of us any way they can."

"Gene…"

He shook his head. "Anyway, before all this does go to shit, Alex…" He caught her gaze finally by the use of her name. "Before it does… Have dinner with me. Somewhere actually posh this time, not Luigi's. Starter, main course, pudding. You an' me. Tonight."

"To…tonight?" A heavy weight dropped in Alex's lungs, in her stomach and in the cavity of her heart and she knew, and knew that she'd known from the minute the words had left Keats' lips, what her decision would be. She took a deep breath and felt her heart break.

"I'm sorry, Gene," she said softly. "I can't…not tonight. But maybe some other night, maybe…When all of this is done…It might just blow over, like I said…We might be fine."

Gene cleared his throat a little awkwardly, feet shuffling as he averted his gaze from her face. "S'alright, Bols, I can take a rejection."

"No, no – " Alex felt as though even the broken parts of her heart were breaking at the look on his face, stubborn and crestfallen and almost angry. "Gene, I…" she sighed. "Gene, I would love to have dinner with you. But…just not tonight. I'm sorry. I just…I have some things I need to do, to get sorted… I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Gene said, and she watched him close off from her again. The chasm in her chest felt raw as he moved to resume his seat behind the desk, sealing himself off away from her. "S'alright, Bolly. Just a thought. You can go now, paperwork to do an' all that."

Alex bit her lip, feeling that she should say something else, something more to fix this. But there was nothing to be said.

"Yes, Guv," she said quietly, slipping out of his office and feeling as though her whole world had caved in the moment she made the decision to save it.


	4. 4

"Ah, finally. I was beginning to think you'd run out on me, Alex."

Alex swallowed, quietly shutting the door to Keats' office behind her. She met his gaze with cold, hard eyes, the line of her lips and jaw rigid.

From his seat behind his desk, Keats gestured toward the chair across from him and smiled. "Where are my manners? Please, take a seat."

"I'm not here to talk pleasantries with you. I'm here to…" Here Alex faltered, her tongue struggling to wrap around her teeth to form the words. She curled her hands into fists and remembered the look of ashen defeat on Gene's face, the discordant silence of her team. "I'm here to agree to your terms."

Keats' smile split into a grin, eyes brightening. "Ah, wonderful. In that case, you really better take a seat, Alex. We need a chat first, just to make sure we're both clear on…everything."

Narrowing her eyes, Alex moved cautiously toward the chair. She pulled it a little away before sitting down. "I really don't know what there is to discuss about – "

Keats' lips had curled into a smirk, a malicious curve that Alex felt would always haunt her worst nightmares. The dim lighting of his office darkened his eyes and she felt, suddenly, very small, surrounded by clutter and filing cabinets and every secret that could tear this world apart.

"About me fucking you?" The word sounded vile in his mouth, the flash of excitement in his eyes causing Alex to tighten her grip on the edges of her chair. "Unfortunately," he drawled, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a sheet of thick, cream paper, "there are indeed a few things we need to discuss before we can… get on, shall we say?"

"You make me sick." The repulsed words seethed from between Alex's lips almost without her ordering them to. She gripped her chair tighter, eyes moving from the paper to Keats' face.

He merely raised a single eyebrow. "So you've said. I think I'll live, somehow." Pushing the paper over toward her, he picked up a heavy fountain pen and placed it in the middle of the desk. "A binding contract of our agreement, defining the terms of our exchange and ensuring the…" here, Keats cleared his throat, "full cooperation of each party. It already bears my signature; you just need to sign at the bottom."

Alex lowered her narrowed gaze to the paper, reading carefully. To her frustration, she couldn't fault it. It explained, in full and binding terms, that Keats would cease his mission to discipline Gene Hunt, would leave all of them, individually and collectively, alone, and would never return to bother them again or allow any other member of his department to seek them out. Their 'files' would be lost, disregarded and ignored. Gene Hunt's behaviour would be pardoned. They could all, each of them, carry on oblivious of the true nature of this world, of how they had died. No-one would be hurt. No-one would be killed. Gene Hunt would not have to watch his team lose faith in him, would not watch her die before his eyes and have the gun placed in his hands. Everything would be as it was. All she had to do was sign on the line.

"Sometime before midnight might be nice, Alex." Keats chuckled. "I believe I am on a promise, after all."

Glaring at him, Alex picked up the fountain pen and uncapped it viciously. "Go to hell," she spat, scrawling her name at the bottom of the contract.

Laughing again, Keats collected back the contract and pen. "Oh sweet, sweet irony." He stood, removing his coat from the back of his chair. "Shall we?"

A frown flickered across Alex's face. "Wh…where are we going?"

"We're – " Realisation dawned on Keats' face, an amused shadow darkening his eyes as he smirked down at her. "Oh. You thought, I suppose, that we'd be staying here?" He leant forwards onto the desk, looming over her with a glittering joy in his eyes, voice dark and amused. "You thought I was just going to fuck you over this desk and have done with it, didn't you, Alex?"

Slowly, the smirk twisted into a grin and he laughed the same horrible bark of laughter that made Alex's spine shiver. "Or…perhaps you hoped? A fantasy you have often involving Hunt, I presume?"

Alex started forward, hands fisting in the lapels of his jacket as she shoved him back across the desk, rage burning in her eyes, heart thundering against her ribcage. "You repulse me," she seethed, glaring into the pits of his eyes. "At least he would never have to blackmail me to get me into his bed."

Keats was unshaken. He only smiled, holding two hands up in surrender and righting his jacket as Alex released him with a shove. "I'm sure."

Crossing over to the door, he opened it wide and gestured for her to precede him out into the corridor. "Now, shall we? After all, as we've already established, I do have somewhere else to be once our little business deal has been…fulfilled."

.

He had directed her to her flat, and now Alex was shaking inside, mouth dry and stale as she looked around. The lights had been dimmed, there were candles on the windowsill and the bed had been made up with new sheets. She rounded on Keats.

"Not here," she said, the syllables dry and brittle in her mouth. "This is my home, this is – "

"Very cosy," Keats finished for her, shrugging off his coat and dropping it onto the sofa without a care. "It's lovely, Alex, truly. I took the liberty of adding a few things to improve the atmosphere. Thought they might make things… more intimate."

Alex could almost feel her flesh curling away from the bone beneath her skin as she shivered. She felt cold everywhere, pulse erratic in her veins as he moved toward her. Her back hit the wall.

"This isn't intimate," she hissed at him, trying to keep her breaths steady. "This isn't romantic, or charming, or anything remotely meaningful. This is just business, and you're just scum."

Keats seemed to close in around her, hands resting against the wall either side of her shoulders as he looked down at her. "You're such a fighter, Alex," he murmured, moving his right hand to cup her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Trailing a finger down her neck, exploring, he hemmed her in closer to the wall. "Always so strong, so defiant… You know that's my favourite thing about you? I think it might be Hunt's as well."

The words escaped Alex as a gasp before she could restrain them. "Don't say his name. Don't – don't you dare mention him."

Keats only raised an eyebrow, smirk deepening the curve of his mouth as his hand moved to slip her blouse from one shoulder. Dropping his head, his lips explored the newly exposed skin there. They were too hot, too cloying and Alex screwed her eyes shut, clenching her fists as she willed herself not to squirm away. She felt the bile churn in her stomach as he scraped his teeth along her collarbone.

"That's fine by me, Alex," Keats whispered finally into her ear, fingers toying with the buttons of her blouse. "You and me…just good business."

Alex swallowed, trying hard not to gulp back her revulsion. She opened her eyes and wished she had kept them closed upon seeing the look of triumph and anticipation in Keats' eyes. "Just good business," she agreed, voice shaking.

Keats grinned and turned her, grip tight on her hips as he pushed her toward the bedroom, breath hot and heavy against the back of her neck. "Just look at you now, Alex… doing deals with the devil."


	5. 5

Alex woke slowly the following morning, eyelids reluctant to admit the dawn light and skin tight from the tears that had dried over her cheekbones. Gathering the duvet closer around her, she wanted nothing more than to fade back into sleep, deny the world outside and the realm of waking memory. It was too much.

The bed around her was cold, as though it had known nothing of the nightmare she had lived the night before, and when she sat up she found no trace of him anywhere. She didn't want to think his name, didn't want to see the shadow of his face behind her eyelids or remember the ghost of his touch anywhere and everywhere, all over her skin and underneath as though no amount of scrubbing could get her clean. Bringing her knees up under her chin, Alex looked morosely around her bedroom to find the candles gone from the windowsill and the floor clear of clothes. She swallowed and felt tears rising in her eyes again, a barrage of suffocating memory stifling her thoughts. Her heart beat heavy against her lungs, chest rising and falling as she fought for some semblance of control, for something to hold onto that would fade the aching in her body, the panic in her lungs.

Gene. She had done this for Gene. For Chris and for Ray and for Shaz and for her own life. To spare all of them. Taking a deep breath, Alex squeezed her eyes shut and repeated their names to herself like a mantra. Chris, clumsy, cautious Chris who had so much love and so much potential. Ray, strong and macho but with a heart of gold underneath and no small amount of pride. Shaz, sweet and clever Shaz, so sharp and smart and bound for superintendent one day, no doubt. And Gene. Gene who made her feel safe and alive and hungry for all that she had once hidden from. Gene who was her safe harbour in this world. It was a while before her breathing returned to normal, but still she felt a stranger in her own skin, unclean beneath her flesh and sick.

She dragged herself into the shower with heavy, shaking limbs. The hot spray pelted down her back for what felt like hours, her arms wrapped around her torso as if trying to hold herself in from the outside. She scrubbed her skin raw and washed her hair twice, as though rinsing away the memory of his fingers might make her feel whole again. As she dried, Alex muttered their names to herself again, taking a deep breath between each one as she saw them all like anchors, hooked into her bones and keeping her on the ground. Gene. Chris. Ray. Shaz.

.

Alex could feel the change in the air as soon as she entered CID an hour later; it was lighter somehow, more familiar. There was none of the grim suffocation that had pervaded the team for weeks, no broken atmosphere or the silence of despair. Despite her attempts to slip in quietly and unnoticed, Alex was immediately stopped by a beaming Chris before she even made it to her desk.

"Have you heard, Ma'am? He's gone. Keats, he's gone! Filed his report late last night apparently, says the department's running smoothly and there's no cause for further action. Finally realised the Guv's not one to be messed with, I reckon."

It took all of Alex's effort to muster a smile and when she did it felt dead and empty on her face. "That's…that's a relief, Chris."

She dropped down behind her desk with a long sigh. So Keats had maintained his end of their deal after all, and for that Alex could only be thankful. She would have felt as the rest of the team looked – cheerful, relieved and hopeful – if it weren't for the aching of the price of their freedom beneath her skin. Still, she swallowed and pulled the remainder of her paperwork towards her. It would get easier. It would get better. Once the team were fully back on their feet, once it was them and the Guv again, fighting to keep the streets clean without menace and interfering, then it would become easier to stomach. Alex told herself this while trying to quell the emptiness in her stomach, the sick feeling that felt lodged in the back of her throat and wouldn't go away. When the door to Gene's office opened and she heard him call her in, she felt queasier still. It all felt too easy and yet too hard at the same time.

.

"Shut the door, DI Drake."

Alex frowned at the use of her title, something unsettling below her ribcage, but she did as instructed. She tried to face him as neutrally as possible and take an even breath to keep her voice steady and detached. "Chris told me about Keats' report. Not so doomed after all, were we?" Her lips attempted a small smile on her behalf.

Yet Gene appeared not to hear, or else ignored her words. He was leant against a filing cabinet by the back window of his office, legs crossed at the ankle and arms crossed over his chest as he looked at her plainly.

"Good night last night was it, Inspector?"

"Gene, what - ?"

"Get all those things done you said you needed to get done?"

His voice was cold and sharp as stone, settling a chill in Alex's bones. The frown on her face had scattered into an expression of fear.

"I…I don't know what you mean, Gene, what's all this about? I thought you'd be pleased, about the report, about Keats being gone – "

"Ah, yes. Jim Keats." A dark shadow crossed Gene's face as he stood up straight, gaze boring into Alex as though she were a stranger to him. "I'm surprised you're not more upset about his being gone, Alex, I mean – "

"Gene," Alex snapped, taking a step forward.

The chill in her bones had given rise to an anger beneath her skin. She couldn't understand why he was being so cold toward her, so sharp and unyielding when… She had just sacrificed everything for him, for them and for their team. He couldn't know, couldn't possibly know the price she had paid…but for it all to be for nothing sent an ice cold blade through her gut.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Moving forward, Gene snatched up a brown envelope from his desk. "Yesterday, Bolly, you said you 'ad some things that needed doing, couldn't have dinner with me because you were busy. Very busy, it turns out." He thrust the envelope towards her. "Something was keeping you occupied, Bols. Or rather someone."

Alex's eyes widened and she felt ice solidify in her blood. No.

With shaking hands and a hammering heart, she slipped the contents of the envelope out into her hands and felt the knife in her gut give a sickening twist.

Clutched in her hands was photo after photo of her and Keats. His body against hers and mouth against her neck. Hands around her wrists as he arched above her against pristine sheets. Hands at the clasp of her bra. Arms encircling her waist as they fell back onto her bed. There were more than a dozen and none of them telling the true story, none of them showing the tight press of her lips throughout, the stiffness in her reluctant muscles and the writhing of disgust beneath her skin.

Alex felt her breath fail her, lungs grasping for air as she met Gene's gaze through a blur of tears. His voice, when he spoke again, was cold as stone.

"Get out of my sight, Drake."


	6. 6

"Get out of my sight, Drake."

A sob had formed in Alex's throat and it broke as she spoke. "Gene, please – "

"Get out." There was a dark storm swirling in his voice and in his eyes as he took a step towards her. "I won't ask again."

"Gene, no, you have to understand. It isn't what it looks like, I didn't – "

A vicious swipe from Gene dashed the photographs from her hands to the floor and he towered over her, furious and injured and breaking her heart. "I thought I could trust you, Alex, I thought you… I thought me and you, we 'ad a connection, an understanding." His words were like thunder, earthquakes in her bones, but when his anger broke the hurt that sagged his next words was so much worse. "I thought you cared, Alex."

Hot and heavy, tears welled in Alex's eyes as she stepped closer, hands reaching for him. "I do, Gene, so much, I never – "

"Don't," Gene thundered. He took hold of her wrists before she could reach him. "Don't touch me."

She was crying now, the bitter taste of salt on her lips as she felt herself shudder beneath his gaze. His touch on her wrists was cold and too tight. She hated the weakness she could hear in her voice, the whine of desperation and her sobs. "Gene, y-you have to…have to let me explain, it wasn't…I would never… please, Gene, you have to believe I could never – "

He thrust her away from him, face guarded and hard as steel. Alex thought he was going to shout again, thunder and rage about broken trust, but instead his voice became plain, his words edged like flint. Somewhere beneath it all, he sounded disappointed. "I don't own you, Bolly. Damn it all, Bols, I couldn't ever try." He backed away from her and somehow the loss of the heat of his rage was worse than the burn. "You could 'ave slept with a thousand thatcherite wankers and sent me photos of every time and I'd 'ave swallowed it. But Keats? Jim sodding Keats, the slimy pencil-pusher who almost had our heads? You know for a moment, Bolly, I thought it was a sick joke, some kind of game you'd cooked up between you but no. This is just good, old fashioned betrayal and you are nothing I thought you were. And I keep trying to think of an explanation you could give me to make this okay but there isn't one."

The weak plea of his name from Alex's lips couldn't stem the flow of contempt from his tongue.

"Did you hear me, Drake?" He opened the door to his office and stared at her coldly. "You're nothing to me. Get out."

"Gene, please, you can't do this, you have to know…" She was sobbing openly now, tears streaming down her face as she looked helplessly up at him, lips trembling. "You can't send me away, not now, now when e-everything…when everything was going to be okay again. You have to listen to me – "

"I don't want to listen to a word you've got to say to me, DI Drake. I'll 'ave your transfer papers served up by the morning. Go home."

Alex felt the world crumble away from her, felt her heart falter in her chest as she walked out into CID. The team were staring, perplexed and on edge. The walk to the double doors at the far end felt like a lifetime, her legs trembling with every step. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shaz rise to go to her, but Gene barked an order for her to stay put. The doors seemed to clang behind her as she slipped through them – a prison sentence but she was on the outside.

She barely made it to her flat before her strength gave way and the black crashed into her lungs.

.

She remained crumpled on the floor for a long time, back against the inside of her own front door as the sobs exploded through her ribs from the inside and the panic mastered her throat, clogging and fluttering, pounding against her skin as she screwed her eyes up against the darkness. She could still see Gene's eyes, hard and cold and petrifying, could still hear the edge in his voice, the hurt beneath the disappointment and the rage. She had broken them, had broken him. Keats had only taken the gun from his own hands and placed it into hers, had slid away with her self-respect, her dignity and her strength and left her nothing. She was nothing.

Gulping in air as though drowned, Alex hauled herself to her feet and lurched toward the kitchen. She located half a bottle of malt whisky and a few of red wine in the back of a cupboard and sat there on the floor to drink, not caring as the glass of the whisky bottleneck clinked painfully against her teeth, not caring as most of the amber liquid sloshed down her chin. It burnt the back of her throat and her stomach, hit her gut painfully but it was a good pain, the kind of pain that soothed afterwards and had her reaching for more. She felt reality disintegrating around her, the shame and the desperation of defeat clawing at her insides. Keats had won. He had won.

She wondered, later, in a hazy and still sobbing stupor, if Gene would have believed her had he given her chance to explain. She was certain he wouldn't, and the bitterness of her conviction stung her throat. She emptied the last of the wine, smearing her hand across her mouth to catch any that had spilled. Bitterly, she thought how this was what Keats must have really planned from the start – the conspiracy, to frame Gene for her murder, to reveal the truth to the others and have them join him – it was too perfectly complex, just complicated and outrageous enough to sound like the mad ravings of a desperate woman should she try to explain what she had been trying to prevent. There wasn't a soul who would believe her should she try to explain.

Alex laughed, but it was hollow and angry and soon turned into sobs. She almost wished Keats were back before her, so she could congratulate him on his genius and his victory. He had led her, blind and willing, to break her and Gene, and the team as a consequence, as easily as he had coaxed his way into her bed, into all her worst nightmares. The blood was on her hands and all the rewards collected in his. No escape. No way to undo the damage she had caused. No way to fix it.

Alex's last thought as she slipped out of consciousness was of Molly, the little girl who felt now like the ghost of a dream, the shadow of something undiscernible in her past never to be retrieved.

.

Gene's footsteps were heavy as he made his way up the stairs to Alex's flat, thoughts only mildly blurred by the effect of a few pints. His own bottle of whisky lay smashed in the corner of his office, leaking the amber warmth he knew the cleaners would curse him for. The photographs were still swimming before his eyes, a blur of skin that churned his stomach and made his hands curl into fists. But still he needs to see her again, needs her to look him in the eyes and admit it, needs to know why.

He reaches her door and raises a fist to knock, but his resolution wavers and instead he drops to the floor, back against the wall and knees drawn up, defeated. He stares at the chipped wood, the wonky number hanging below the peep hole, undecided. When Luigi finds him asleep there hours later, bent at an awkward angle and impossible to wake, he only sighs and drags him round to lie more comfortably. He wonders which one of them broke the other's heart this time and shakes his head, wondering if it is the stars or merely their stubbornness that keeps them from each other and if they'll ever learn.


	7. 7

Gene stirred sometime past midnight, mouth dry and back aching. Alex's door swam in front of his vision and for one sublime moment his mind forgot to catch up with his body and her betrayal didn't figure in his thoughts. The memory of the photographs and her sobbing pleas soon slammed into him as he stood, cursing the hardness of the floor and his own idiocy for falling asleep. Since when did Gene Hunt shy from confrontation, since when did he falter?

He felt his jaw and gaze harden, all traces of drowsiness draining from him now. Moving forwards, he raised a fist to bang against her door.

"Drake!" Her surname lunged from the back of his throat, a wounded animal on the defensive. "Drake, open this door!"

.

Within the flat, there was a hammering from the inside of Alex's skull. She surfaced to consciousness slowly, bleary eyed and pained. It took her a few disorientated moments to register that the hammering was both inside and outside her own mind and her muscles responded feebly as she struggled to her feet. She connected the dots hazily, the emptiness in her chest gaping at each remembrance – the photos, Gene's rage, the all-consuming fear of the irretrievable… A million emotions exploded inside Alex at once: searing pain, blinding rage, a cutting hurt and the frustrated numbness that only alcohol could bring.

Clutching first the kitchen counter and then the wall for support, she felt her way to the front door. Gene's face was once more thunder and steel as he stood on her threshold and Alex felt again the waves of hopelessness crash over her, stinging in their retreat as they scraped her hollow. She let him in, pressing herself against the wall as he passed her and wishing, absurdly, that she could reach for him. If she could just touch him, press her palm to his cheek and convince him that she was there, she hadn't meant to, she had been trying to save them. But he looked so cold, so utterly unlike the warm and caring man she knew he could be, that she could do nothing but shrink back.

Gene noted the empty bottles on the kitchen floor, the mess of spilt wine and the dark red stains at the corners of Alex's lips. She looked a mess. More than that. She looked broken, watching him with terrified, sorrowful eyes and an ashen face. Her words, when she spoke, were broken too – impossibly quiet and utterly devoid of the fight he usually associated with her.

"What do you want, Gene?"

You was the first answer that came, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind. It stung as he swallowed it with a bitter reminder to himself of what she had done, how she had –

It occurred to him that beyond that first instinctual response, Gene didn't know what he wanted or why he had come. For an explanation, perhaps, for more excuses. What good would they do?

Finally, he asked, voice brittle and cold: "Was he good, Alex? Did he tick all your boxes like a good little pencil pusher?"

She slapped him. The force of it left his cheek red and the back of her own hand tingling as she swallowed. "You bastard," she hissed, moving now towards him. She felt the storm building inside of her, felt the tidal surge of saltwater behind her eyes and a fury in her chest as her eyes met his glare for glare.

"You're so wrapped up in your own pride, so self-absorbed by your own pain and your own jealousy that you can't see outside of yourself, can't even stop to think that maybe I didn't want to do it." The words dripped from her tongue like venom, acidic and volatile, and once she had started she couldn't stop. "Did you not wonder for just a moment, Gene, if I wasn't forced into it? He had us all over a barrel, you selfish, pig-headed arse! And to think I was actually trying to save you."

The tears streamed down Alex's face, hot and angry. She had stalked towards him and now she fisted his shirt in her hands, clutching him as though wishing she could shake the anger and disbelief from him. Her fear caught up with her as she met his gaze.

"He was going to ruin you, Gene," she said quietly, but somehow the quiet defeat was worse than the venom. "He was going to ruin all of us, unless I did as he said, so I…I…" The steel came back into her voice and flashed in her eyes. She shoved him viciously away. "And fuck you, Gene, for judging me. FUCK YOU for thinking that I would ever willingly choose that slimy, creeping, son of a bitch over you. Fuck you, Gene. Fuck you."

As quickly as it had come, the fight flooded out of her and she moved back, crying as she dropped down onto the sofa and hid her face in her hands. For a stunned moment, Gene stared at the trembling of her shoulders aghast, self-contempt boiling inside of him. The photos, the angle, the fact the photographer never caught her face… It had all been wrong, right from the start. He had been too blind to see it. Too selfish, too jealous, too goddamn self-righteous to actually protect her. Gene felt sick.

"Alex – "

She lifted her head from her hands but kept her gaze trained on the floor. "I thought you trusted me, Gene," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I thought you knew me better, thought you had a shred of respect for me."

He moved toward her, barely breathing. "Bols – "

Alex's head swung and she met his gaze. She looked empty. "I gave everything to keep you safe, to keep all of us safe. And you couldn't even give me the benefit of the doubt long enough for me to explain. What does that say about us, about you?"

"Alex, please – "

She shook her head, swallowing over the lump in her throat. "Leave me alone, Gene. You got what you came for. Your precious pride can remain intact a little longer."

"Bols, I'm sorry, please – "

"GET OUT!"

The shriek tore from her lungs, savage and splintered. As its echoes faded, Alex folded over double, sobs wracking her body again as she convulsed, pulling her knees into herself as though trying to shrink as small as possible. Gene had no words. He dropped down onto the sofa beside her and dragged her into his arms. She barely struggled but went limp against his chest as Gene clutched her to him, chin resting on the top of her head.


	8. 8

Dawn was approaching by the time Alex's sobs quietened, the room soft and sombre now in the grey light. The silence of an impasse was heavy in Gene's lungs, his arms almost limp around Alex's frame as he breathed in the scent of her hair, eyes closed. There were words festering beneath his tongue, apologies and promises and questions, all sincere, all useless. He had failed her. She had needed him, more than ever, and he had been nursing his jealousy and rejection like the stubborn git he always was when it came to her.

"I'm sorry, Bols," he finally whispered against her temple, lips lingering there as though trying to re-establish a connection. The guilt was burning him through his insides and he swallowed, opening furious eyes. "Did…did he hurt you, Alex?"

Taking a sharp breath in, Alex stirred against his chest and lifted her head to meet his gaze. She shook her head, and her voice sounded smaller than he had ever heard it. "I had no choice, Gene, he…he was going to… I didn't have a choice, I agreed, it was…"

A hard look came into Gene's eyes, guilt boiling now with rage. "Answer the question, Alex. Did he hurt you?"

Alex swallowed, her breathing shaky. She reached for the neck of her jumper, hesitated, and then pulled it aside. It took Gene a while to see through the grey light that came dimly from the window but as his eyes narrowed small bruises showed themselves against the paleness of her skin, a few red angry marks scattered across her collarbone. Alex's gaze was fixed unseeing on the opposite wall.

"Where else?"

Alex felt her hands shaking as she moved to lift the hem of her jumper just far enough to show bruises left by fingers that had gripped too tight across her hipbones. "Here," she murmured, moving her hands to her upper thighs, "and here."

Gene let out a long sigh and swallowed against the tirade rising against his lips. She didn't need his outrage or his hatred. Gathering her to him again, he pressed his lips to her forehead, her hairline, her temple, apologies losing themselves amongst laboured breathing and fearful heartbeats.

"I'm so sorry, Alex."

After what felt like endless silence, Alex sighed and shifted away from him once more. One hand found its way to his jaw, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Why didn't you want to listen, Gene? Why wouldn't you believe me?"

"I…" The usual excuses came by instinct to Gene's lips but he let them dissolve into silence. "There's…there's no excuse, Bols. You don't 'ave to forgive me. Won't blame you if you don't. You trusted me and I didn't repay that."

"We have to trust each other, Gene. We don't work without that, not in any capacity, not professionally, not…personally. Otherwise, what's the point?"

He could see some of the life returning to her again, the spirit of the Alex Drake he knew beginning to return to her face.

"I know, Bols. I know. If you want me to leave, I will. And…if you want to…you know, leave Fenchurch, then…I'll understand."

"Gene, what?" Alex's eyes flew open wide, her right hand coming up to mirror her left on the other side of his face. "How could you say… Why would I want to leave? You're… " Her voice softened, the effort of a smile just hinting on her lips. "You're all I have, Gene, goddamn you."

Gene looked taken aback. "But, Bols, you – I…"

Alex shook her head again and brushed one thumb affectionately across his cheek. "We're a mess, Gene. It's all a mess, everything… It was all falling apart and just when I thought I'd put it back together you tore it up again and you're right, no-one would blame me if I didn't forgive you for that, but…"

"But?"

"But you admit when you're wrong, Gene, you… it eats you up, I can see it like I've seen it before. You're a good man and I still believe that. Keats is and always was the enemy here, not you. We'll move on from this, and the team… it'll be like it was before, Gene. Maybe even better. I'll be okay."

"Alex, he hurt you. He forced you to – "

She shut her eyes tight. "I know what he did. I'm not saying I'm fine with it because – " she cut off, hearing the tremor of tears in her voice again. Taking a deep breath and opening her eyes, she began again. "I'm not saying I'm okay, Gene. I'm saying I will be okay. We will be okay."

Slowly, Gene nodded. "Nobody's going to touch you again, Bols. I can promise you that. I won't let them."

"They'll have to go through the great Gene Genie first?"

He rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in. "Something like that."

There was silence for a moment, then Alex whispered: "Are you scared? Of…this, I mean. Us?"

A chuckle surprised both of them and Gene pressed his lips to her forehead again, fighting a smile. "Terrified." He grew serious again. "Are you sure, Alex, about this? Don't know how you can be, after what I've done… Christ, Bols, I treated you like - "

"You stayed," Alex cut him off, pushing her fingers into his hair. She smiled. "There was a time when you'd have left, but you stayed when I told you to leave. That's enough."

Shaking his head, Gene pressed his lips to hers. It was chaste and short, not at all what either of them had imagined their first kiss might be, but Alex found she didn't care.

"You know this is it then, don't you?" she asked, pulling away from him. "I'm not going home, and Keats can't touch us anymore. You're stuck with me and I'm stuck with you. And it's going to be messy and complicated and we're still going to be stubborn and hurt and swear we hate each other sometimes. You have to be on board with that, Gene. We have to be honest with each other. There has to be trust."

For a moment Gene just looked at her, drank in the resolution in her eyes, the slight tremor at the corner of her lips that hinted at fear and doubt, the simultaneously guarded and open way she gazed back at him. He wondered who in the universe had dreamt up Alex Drake, her light and her dark, the harsh and gentle extremities beneath her skin.

"I'm on board, Bols," he said finally. "So long as you're sure you want to be stuck with me."

Alex sighed, relief and tension uncoiling in a single breath as she gave him a small smile. "Stuck at the end of the world with Gene Hunt," she mused. "It could be a lot worse."

"Cheeky mare."

"Arse."


End file.
